Battle of Wills
by Guile
Summary: I'm sure it's been done before, but... oh well. Please, R&R if you liked my little ficlet, or even if you didn't!


Ranma could feel sweat begin to appear on his brow. He dared not spare a hand to wipe the liquid away however. His enemies might take that as a sign of weakness and strike, and that he could not allow. He consciously slowed his breathing and body, to take note of the situation. He felt he had all the time in the world for contemplation.  
  
Slowly, he focused on his first foe.  
  
Genma Saotome. He did not look like much. His habitual white gi covered his impressive girth, and his white bandana did a fair job of hiding his completely bald pate. The older man looked to be well past his prime. But looks could be deceiving. Ranma knew that though he looked fat, every inch of his old man was heavy muscle, and his glasses hid well the cunning eyes of a crafty fighter.  
  
In a contest of pure speed or strength, Ranma knew he would emerge the victor. But Genma... Genma was sneaky. Tricky. Sort of like the ancient Joketsuzoku Cologne, the Old Ghoul. One did not survive the things his father had for thirty years and not gain a sleeve full of aces. The pigtailed boy had seen first-hand the power Genma could bring to bare. Ranma knew he would have to be wary, but he felt that he could take his 'oyaji' if necessary.  
  
His other opponent gave him a slightly more pause. Dressed in his customary yellow muscle shirt and dark green pants topped with a black-on-yellow bandanna, Ryoga the Lost Boy cut an impressive figure. Not as fast as Ranma himself, the other boy was still his closest rival of any he had fought. Ryoga was almost stupidly strong, and the cursed boy was almost certain to have his own share of sneaky tactics.  
  
Ryoga had his own code of honor, but it rarely seemed to apply to the heir of the Mutsubetsu Kakuto Saotome Ryu. Looking into the bandana'd boy's eyes, fiery red due to the coming confrontation, Ranma saw iron-hard determination. Ryoga Hibiki was a juggernaut of physical force, but Ranma still felt he could take him. He was, after all, Ranma Saotome, and Ranma Saotome did not lose.  
  
Unable to turn his head for fear of even a slight distraction leading to loss, he spied the Tendo sisters out of the corner of his eye. Akane looked irritated, as usual, and Nabiki and Kasumi seemed almost indifferent. At least they would not interfere.  
  
Ranma turned his eyes back on the two martial artists just in time to watch the elder's eyes narrow slightly, and tendons in the Lost Boy's arm stand out like steel cords. It was time to begin.  
  
Ryoga growled in his throat like a wild animal, his eyes feral. The Saotome heir could feel a wide smirk on his otherwise serious face. Genma's visage was solemn, Ranma was so hyped, he could almost feel endorphins and adrenaline flood his system. His own muscled bunched and tensed in readiness, like a coiled spring. They waited in the deathly silence, like Olympic runners awaiting the starting gun.  
  
And, like that starting gun, the trio, primed and ready for action, heard a bell. Not even recognizing it as the Amazon Bicycle of Doom, they leapt into motion. Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the three struck simultaneously. Neither Ranma nor Ryoga even flinched as the Bike of Death came hurtling upon the poor Saotome patriarch's cranium. It was too late to back out now. This was the moment of reckoning.  
  
Ranma's hand sped towards his goal with god-like speed. There was no way Ryoga could match his speed, he gloated to himself, and speed was the necessary factor in this duel. But suddenly, Ryoga's hand swung out of nowhere and connected with Ranma's face like a ton of bricks.  
  
Bastard, Ranma thought fuzzily. Must have used the table to hide his fist.  
  
As he fell, Ranma could hear Ryoga shout jubilantly, "I got it!"  
  
Ryoga's laughter chased him into darkness.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
  
Shampoo blinked as she took in the scene. The three Tendo sister standing casually along one wall, her Airen unconscious, and the Lost Boy dancing around the room, his hands holding his hard-won treasure; the last riceball.  
  
The Amazon blinked again. "What Shampoo miss?"  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
OWARI  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Nerima Wrecking Crew, or riceballs, so any legal action against me is pointless. You probably couldn't find me anyway. So... nyah!  
  
A/N: I'm sure it's been done before, but... oh well. Feel free to review, or flame if you wish. 


End file.
